


kiss it better

by resistanceflyboy (kherezae)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bittersweet, Bottom Poe Dameron, Childhood Memories, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Prompt Fill, post-TFA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-03 03:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6594553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kherezae/pseuds/resistanceflyboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BAISEMAIN - a kiss on the hand</p><p>Poe's parents taught him that when someone's hurting, you kiss it better. As kids, he tried kissing it better with Ben. As adults, it might not be so easy... but it might still work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. baisemain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [obsessivelyintrigued](https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelyintrigued/gifts).



> Since this was meant to be fluffy and the original chapter ended up more bittersweet with a fluffy ending, I've added a chapter of fluffy smut, yay.
> 
> So, chapter one is bittersweet with a happy ending, rated G.
> 
> Chapter two (set an indefinite amount of time later, but enough that they've been in a relationship awhile) is explicit. Fluffy sex.
> 
> Enjoy!

Whenever Poe gets a scraped knee or a cut or even a bruise, his parents always kiss it better. So when he is seven years old and his new friend Ben falls and scrapes up the heels of his hands, Poe knows just what to do. Ben’s eyes water and he takes in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t cry. He lets Poe take his wrists and pull them close so he can inspect the dirt-encrusted, reddened skin, one small cut oozing blood. “We can clean it up,” he says, leading Ben inside his home and to the small medkit under the counter in the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I know what to do.”

He grabs the stepstool his parents keep in the kitchen for him and urges Ben up next to the sink. Turning on the water, he opens the medkit and pulls out the bacta gel Mom always uses, and from a drawer he grabs a washcloth. Then, just like Mom does, he checks the water to make sure it’s warm but not hot, and then he nudges Ben’s hands toward the stream.

Ben puts his scraped palms under the water, but immediately flinches and pulls away, complaining, “Ow.”

“We have to clean it first,” Poe says.

“I know.” Ben frowns, his eyes darting sideways toward Poe, and then he eases his hands under the water again. He winces, but keeps them there.

Poe carefully helps rinse the dirt clear of Ben’s hands. The scrapes aren’t too bad except the one gouge; he must have landed on a rock or something. The water speeds up the slow ooze of blood from that cut, running reddish water into the sink. Once Ben’s hands are clean, Poe shuts off the water and uses the washcloth to gently dry around the scrapes.

A scuffing sound from the corner draws Poe’s attention over, and Mom is there, leaning in the kitchen doorway. She’s smiling, and she nods for him to keep going. So Poe returns his attention to Ben’s hands. They’re very close together on the stepstool — it’s not very wide, but they’re small, so it doesn’t matter. He grabs the bacta gel and spreads some carefully across Ben’s scrapes, paying special attention to the gouge that’s trailing blood down Ben’s palm.

Poe blows on the bacta gel to help it solidify, then uses the damp washcloth to clean the blood from Ben’s palm. And, finally, he steps down from the stool and kisses the skin of Ben’s wrist just above the sealed wound. “There. All better,” he says, and he smiles brightly.

“Thanks,” Ben says quietly. He doesn’t talk much, but that’s okay. Poe likes talking, and Ben’s a good listener.

A hand ruffles through his hair and Poe looks up to find Mom standing just behind him, smiling. “You boys hungry?”

Poe looks to Ben, who meets his eyes and gives a small nod. So Poe looks back up at Mom and announces, “Starving.”

She laughs. “Okay, but I’ll need a little time to get lunch ready. Have you shown Ben the A Wing yet?”

He hasn’t! Poe shakes his head and grabs for Ben’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you now!”

Mom’s laugh follows them out of the kitchen. Before they make it out the front door, she calls, “I’ll come get you when lunch is ready!”

Poe wonders if Mom might take them both up in the A Wing after lunch. It might be a tight fit, but they’re small. And Ben should definitely see what it’s like.

He glances over his shoulder to grin at Ben, and finds Ben smiling back.

* * *

Poe is ten years old when he gets home late from school (they’ve got good flight simulators, he likes to stay and practice) and he realizes they’ve got company — he recognizes Senator Organa’s ship, which means Ben is here. He hasn’t seen Ben in _months_ , almost a _year_ , and that is definitely too long.

He bursts through the front door before remembering he should probably be polite. Dad and Senator Organa are in the sitting room, talking about _adult things_ , but they stop and Ben’s mom smiles over at him. “Hi, Senator,” Poe says, slightly breathless.

Senator Organa chuckles, her eyes crinkling. “It’s good to see you, Poe. Ben is out by the Force-sensitive tree.”

“Thanks!” Poe calls, already bolting for the back door.

Outside he slows, caught by the tension spread between the kids in his yard. Ben is angry, hands fisted at his sides. Haro’s talking: “Show me, do something with the Force!”

Poe’s cousin Lina pulls at Haro’s wrist — “Come on, Haro, leave him alone.” — but Taina and Fergo have that same greedy look on their faces that Haro does.

“No,” Ben says, his voice low and strained.

“You can’t be a Jedi if you can’t even float a hydrospanner!” Haro crows, tossing one into the air and catching it. “Come on, unless you just _can’t_ —”

And then he jerks through the air, colliding with Fergo so that they both go stumbling, and Ben’s hand is out, and it takes Poe a moment to register that _that_ was the Force. He’s across the yard a breath later; he puts a hand on Ben’s chest, then looks over at Haro. “Hey, cut it out,” he says in his strongest voice, drawing on that hard look Dad gets when Poe knows he’s done arguing because there’s no way Dad’s going to bend. “He doesn’t have to do anything.”

“He pushed me with the Force!” Haro accuses, his eyes a little wide but his mouth set angry.

“Kind of asked for it, didn’t you?” Poe says. His hand is still on Ben’s chest, and he can feel how fast his friend’s breaths are coming.

Haro bends to pick up the tool he dropped when Ben pushed him, then waves it in front of them. “Pushing me is _not_ the same as floating a hydrospanner!”

Poe shakes his head. Haro is one of his oldest friends, but sometimes he’s just stupid. “Go home, Haro,” he says.

“You’d rather hang out with that freak?”

Poe’s shoulders pull back, his jaw clenching. “When you’re acting like this, yeah!” Nevermind that he can see Haro’s stupid face anytime, but Ben’s rarely ever here. “Get out of my yard.”

With a sound of disgust, Haro tosses the hydrospanner aside and turns. “Let’s get out of here,” he says to the others.

Fergo and Lina hesitate, watching Poe, but he crosses his arms over his chest and they trudge out of his yard behind the others.

Finally Poe turns to look at Ben. His friend is still rigid, his fists clenched at his sides as he watches the other kids leave. Some of the lower branches of the Force-sensitive tree hang down behind Ben’s head, their blossoms a stark contrast to the dark cast of his expression.

Poe sits down beside Ben, under the shade of the tree, and asks, “You okay?” But Ben doesn’t answer. His eyes are half-wild. Poe’s not sure what he’s thinking, but it looks like — like he’s in pain. “You wanna talk about it?”

Ben shakes his head.

He looks so hurt Poe could kick himself. Why didn’t he leave school earlier? Why didn’t he step in right away? He reaches up, grabbing Ben’s arm. Gradually his friend’s hand relaxes, his fingers uncurling against the underside of Poe’s wrist. Poe leans and draws Ben’s hand closer, laying a gentle kiss on his knuckles. It’s not like a scrape or bruise; maybe it’s not something you can kiss better. But the tension starts to leak out of Ben, and finally he lowers himself to sit beside Poe.

“I’m sorry,” Ben mutters.

“For what?” Poe asks. “He really was asking for it.”

Shaking his head, Ben says, “I could have hurt him.”

Poe shrugs a shoulder. “But you didn’t. And maybe you knocked some sense into his head.”

A smile creeps across Ben’s face.

* * *

The first few weeks of Ben back on the Light Side, among the Resistance, are stressful for everyone. And Poe doesn’t know how to handle it. There’s no manual on former friends who go to the Dark Side, kill a bunch of innocent people, torture you for information, and then come back trailing apologies in their wake even when they’re too uncertain to voice them aloud.

Poe is furious, and for a little while he even avoids Ben because — because how is that supposed to go? But the first time Ben’s eyes ease up to meet his and then flick away, hurt by whatever’s on his face, the hard shell around Poe’s heart cracks. When he sees Ben now, it’s all parallels to Ben from _before_ , and it makes Poe ache, but not the way he expected it to.

The Ben he knew isn’t gone, not even close. The problem is that Poe was an idiot kid before, and blind to things that are obvious to him now. The pain Ben’s carrying around and trying to shoulder all on his own. How incredibly, impossibly hard this must be for him.

The next time their eyes meet, they catch, and Poe hesitates but then — he offers a tentative smile, or at least he thinks it’s a smile. The general says something that pulls Ben’s eyes away from Poe, toward her, and then they’re moving on to wherever it is they’re going, but Ben casts a last glance over his shoulder.

And Poe knows even less what to do with himself than before.

It takes time. First, Ben comes to apologize, and it’s maybe just as hard on Poe as on Ben. Their first interactions are rough because they neither one know how to view the other anymore. Poe begins to grasp the depths to which Ben was used and broken in his childhood, and how it warped him. And Poe hates himself for it, but he learns to forgive Ben for the wrong he did everyone else first — until all that’s left is the ache he guards over that interrogation on the _Finalizer_ and _How could you do that to me?_ — as though Poe is somehow more important than all the other victims of this war.

But eventually the broken edges between them mend. Poe’s focus shifts. Before he noticed the hurt and apology Ben (or Kylo, as he’d rather be called now, because he can’t undo his past) carries around with him everywhere, but now he imagines what it must be like to suffer under the weight of past mistakes and walk among people who, by and large, hate you furiously. He starts to piece together a picture of what it must be like to grow up as Ben did, with Dark forces actively trying to corrupt him, with parents who were never there enough — and to be pushed into doing the things Kylo did, but then to _walk away_ from it.

What kind of strength must it take to be in that dark place and climb your way back out, even though the people you’re climbing back to are trying to kill you for what you’ve done?

And his heart _aches_ for Kylo.

* * *

The first time Poe sees Kylo angry, he’s surprised to see those fists clench, to see his anger rise after weeks of hurt and regret and sadness too deep for more vivid emotions to break through.

And then he’s surprised that Kylo hasn’t been angry before now, because half the people here treat him like dirt even though he’s trying _so hard_ — it’s made Poe angry on his behalf a couple of times.

He’s not sure _exactly_ what caused it, because it stopped when he entered the room, but judging by what little he heard in the hall and the soldier who’s currently glaring at Kylo, it was someone who thought the general’s orders to leave Kylo alone (to bring any complaints about him directly to her) only apply when there are no commanding officers around.

“Do you have a problem?” Poe asks the soldier, unyielding as steel.

“No sir,” the man says, but there’s an undertone to it that tells Poe the man could use a good thumping.

The drum of boots quickstepping across the floor sounds behind him, and Poe turns to find that Kylo is sweeping from the mess hall, his fists still clenched. Poe leaves the soldier to follow, but Maker, Kylo can _move_ when he wants to. He turns a corner and Poe nearly jogs to catch up.

He finally closes the distance between them as Kylo turns into an empty hallway, and he reaches out for Kylo’s wrist, catching it as the man turns back to face him. Anger and hurt battle across his beautiful face and Poe _aches_ for him. He remembers being ten years old and seeing a look a lot like this on Ben’s face after he Force-shoved a boy who pushed him a little too far, and now Kylo can’t even do that much to defend himself. Not with so much distrust surrounding him and his Force abilities.

So Poe raises Kylo’s hand and kisses his knuckles, just like when they were kids. It’s like magic; tension starts to bleed from Kylo, his shoulders relaxing first and then the hurt slowly easing from his face. He watches Poe, something new warming his expression.

This is the first time Poe has touched him since they were kids. It hits him like a fist to the gut. Poe is always touching someone — he’s been teased about it before — but with Kylo it’s been hard. He gets the impression Kylo doesn’t _like_ to be touched, and anyway, things have been so strained between them.

Now, though…

Poe steps forward and wraps his arms around Kylo, and warm arms wrap around him in return. He lifts his chin and presses his mouth against the side of Kylo’s jaw, just under his ear, laying another gentle kiss there. “Is this okay?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” Kylo says in a gruff tone that suggests it might be _better than okay_.

If it is possible to kiss Kylo’s hurt better, Poe wonders, how many kisses might that take? He pulls away just enough to find Kylo’s mouth. With their lips close enough to brush, he asks, “What about this?”

Kylo answers by kissing him, and Poe’s heart surges, sending sparks tingling out along his synapses.

Poe has been so focused on Kylo’s aches, he ignored his own, but the relief of this kiss expands through him and carries a piece of the pain away. They’ve both been hurting, and if kissing it better is what it takes, Poe’s suddenly sure he’s willing to commit to as many kisses as it takes — and more.


	2. release

Poe has a habit of kissing the tension out of Kylo’s hands when he gets stressed or frustrated or angry, and it’s endearing, it is — although occasionally Kylo finds it (almost) irritating when he doesn’t want to let go of the anger so easily.

Take the rare instances when they fight. It seems a bit like cheating, to use something Kylo’s conditioned to find calming against him, and he can’t quite tell if it’s intentional. Maybe not. There’s always a soft, earnest look in Poe’s eyes when he glances up at Kylo, his lips feather-light over his knuckles.

Honestly, he wouldn’t trade it. The warmth of the comfort that gesture sends rolling through him is one of his favorite things in the world. And if it forces him to let go of his anger, well, so much the better, right?

* * *

It’s been a hard week. Luke and Rey’s padawans are entering into the phase of their training that introduces them to mental manipulation, and Kylo agreed to help, because no one understands the power of the Force to  _ manipulate _ better than he does. This is a new generation of Force users, a new hope for the future, and Kylo wants to help make sure that none of them — that no one — ever has to suffer through what he did growing up.

Of course, it does dredge up difficult memories that leave him exhausted from sleepless nights. Sometimes he swears he sees shades of Dark things lurking in his periphery. Snoke is long gone, but an aching terror curls in the pit of Kylo’s stomach when he thinks about the fact that nothing is ever  _ truly _ gone. It becomes a part of the Force, a part of everything, and thus a part of him.

He shudders. He needs a distraction. Poe’s humming from their tiny kitchen, where he already shooed Kylo away from helping to put away the leftovers of their dinner, and even those familiar sounds aren’t enough to ease the weight of dread seeping through his limbs like ice.

Where’s his datapad? He’s got engine designs to work on that might distract him. He casts a look around the sitting room, but it’s nowhere to be found. “Poe?”

“Hm?” Poe hums from the kitchen.

“Where’s my datapad?” 

Poe crosses to the edge where kitchen and sitting room meet, drying his hands on a towel. “I put it away.”

Kylo’s eyebrows draw together as he shoots a look toward Poe. “Where? I need it. I’ve got designs to work on —”

Poe tosses his towel onto a countertop and moves into the sitting room, leaning his hands onto the back of their sofa. “Babe, what you need is sleep.”

A dark burst of laughter dies in Kylo’s throat and he turns something close to a glare on Poe. He doesn’t get it. “I can’t. There’s too... “ He gestures vaguely with one hand. “Much. I need to work. Seriously, Poe, where is it?”

No answer. Poe crosses his arms over his chest, watching Kylo with a soft expression that’s suddenly infuriating.

Kylo shakes his head and turns away, lifting cushions and opening drawers on the low table in front of the sofa. Maybe it’s in the office. He turns to sweep that way, but Poe steps from behind the couch, hooking a hand around his elbow. All of Kylo’s muscles are straining. He doesn’t look at Poe.

“Kylo.” Poe reaches for his wrist, lifts it and takes Kylo’s hand in both of his own, massaging his thumbs in circles over Kylo’s fair skin. “I know you’ve been having trouble sleeping. I know this is hard on you, and it brings up things you’d rather not remember.”

Yeah, which is why he needs his datapad. For the  _ distraction. _ He considers pulling his hand out of Poe’s grasp, but then there are lips laying a light kiss on his knuckles. The familiarity of it, the comfort, sends peace radiating out along his nerves. He was nearly tense enough to ache, and as he relaxes his breathing comes easier.

But Poe’s not done. He kisses the back of Kylo’s hand, and then his wrist. Feathers gentle kisses up his arm. He pulls Kylo’s arm straight, resting it over his shoulder as he steps forward to lay a kiss against the soft skin of his inner elbow. Then he looks up at Kylo with those warm eyes. “You’re hoping the work will distract you, right?” he asks. Kylo nods, and Poe’s answering grin is devious, a promise that sends heat pooling in his core. “I have a better distraction for you, babe.”

He turns, taking one of Kylo’s hands as he does and tugging him along toward the bedroom. And once there, he apparently decides to be an aching tease, because he finishes kissing his way up Kylo’s arm while his hands slip under his shirt and over his stomach and chest, tracing at scars. Once his lips reach the skin just under Kylo’s sleeve, he pulls up on the shirt and Kylo lifts his arms, helping Poe pull the fabric free.

Kylo reaches for the hem of Poe’s shirt, but Poe grabs his wrists and backs him to the edge of the bed before planting a hand on his chest and giving a solid push. The bed gives under Kylo as he falls onto it, bouncing a bit, and then Poe’s grinning over him with one knee on the bed. Poe hovers with his mouth over Kylo’s for a moment and then —  _ tease _ — shifts down to lay a kiss against the underside of Kylo’s jaw. He trails his lips downwards, pausing in the hollow between Kylo’s collarbones to nip with his teeth in a way that almost makes him  _ whine. _

“Poe,” Kylo complains, but it goes ignored as his lover works his way downward, paying special attention to the hard ridges and divots of his scars and —  _ oh _ — his nipples. They are both wearing  _ far _ too much clothing.

Finally Kylo can’t take it and he growls, reaching for Poe’s shoulders and flipping, pulling him up to lie on his back on the bed. Kylo straddles his hips, ignoring the cheeky laughter rumbling from Poe’s throat (he’s not smiling, no) as he reaches for Poe’s shirt and yanks upward.

Poe helps, leaning up so that the shirt slides up more easily, and the way it makes his abdomen flex —  _ Maker. _ Kylo groans and tangles Poe’s hands in the shirt before he can pull it completely free, pinning them to the bed above his head. He leans down and kisses the wry smirk from Poe’s face, kisses his lips open and swirls the tip of his tongue against his lover’s — and when Poe is groaning and his hips are straining beneath him, Kylo looks down and watches the flex of Poe’s abdomen again and then buries a satisfied moan against Poe’s neck.

Lips brush against his temple and then Poe’s murmuring against his ear, “Sufficiently distracted yet?”

Kylo grins. “Not yet.”

“How do you want me?” Poe asks, and heat sings through Kylo. The firm shape of Poe’s cock presses through the fabric of their pants. 

Tonight Kylo wants to be inside Poe, to surge against him until all his muscles are trembling and he’s breathless and exhausted. He leans up for another kiss, drawing Poe’s lower lip between his teeth. Their breath mingles as he murmurs, “Can I fuck you?”

“Please,” Poe moans, and Kylo releases his hands and crawls to the edge of the bed for a tube of lube. When he turns back, Poe is kicking his pants across the room. He turns on his side and reaches for Kylo’s waistband, unbuttoning and tugging, and he doesn’t even bother trying to pull them off; he frees Kylo’s cock and runs a thumb up the underside. Kylo moans and grabs Poe’s shoulder, pressing him down against the bed. He stands long enough to step out of his pants and then kneels between Poe’s legs at the edge of the bed. 

“My beautiful pilot,” Kylo says, his hands fumbling with the bottle of lube as he kisses the inside of Poe’s thigh. When he straightens, Poe’s legs are over his shoulders. With one hand, he circles the puckered skin of Poe’s entrance with slick fingers; with the other, he squeezes a line of lube along his lover’s cock and then snaps the tube shut, tossing it aside so he can wrap his fingers around Poe’s cock and stroke.

Poe groans, his hips bucking just a little. Kylo strokes with one hand and slowly fucks him open with the fingers of the other, and then leans down to gently suckle one of Poe’s balls into his mouth — his pilot’s moans hitch around his name. Hands thread through his hair and he glances and finds Poe leaning up, watching him with hot, hungry eyes. “Inside me,” Poe orders. “Now.”

Kylo grins and stands, using the leverage of his arms hooked under Poe’s knees to push his lover further up on the bed. Poe gropes blindly above for a pillow and then lifts his hips, shoving the pillow underneath.

Kylo stretches his fingers open within Poe once more and then withdraws, reaching for the lube to slick his cock. Then, settling on his knees between Poe’s legs, he grabs the base of his cock and gently presses into the hot clench of his lover. Poe groans and grabs at his forearms, his eyes shut. “Kylo,” he murmurs, his tone tight with want.

Once his hips press close against Poe, Kylo pauses for a moment, leaning over to steal a kiss. Poe drags his blunt fingernails down Kylo’s back and sides and then breaks the kiss, his breath quick and hot against Kylo’s lips. “I’m good,” he says. “Come on.”

Kylo grins and brushes a last kiss on Poe’s lips before raising his head to watch his lover as he rocks his hips back and then forward, finding a rhythm that sends sparks streaking out through his system and parts Poe’s lips around a moan. 

The pressure of Poe constricting around him, the hot need in his moans and the broken way he calls Kylo’s name — it doesn’t take long before Kylo’s hands are fisting in the blankets on either side of Poe as stars dance across his vision and his hips twitch an erratic rhythm. As the white-hot swell begins to subside, he lets his head fall against Poe’s chest, and then there are fingers stroking through his hair. The air cools him where sweat beaded across his skin.

As he comes down from the high, he opens his eyes to Poe’s cock twitching upward between them, then falling against his stomach. Kylo grins and eases himself out of Poe — earning a groan from his lover — and works himself down between Poe’s knees so he can lean and take that gorgeous cock in his mouth. 

Ugh, lube — not his favorite taste in the world. Kylo runs his hand along Poe’s length and leans away long enough to locate the closest piece of fabric (Poe’s shirt), which he uses to clean up the worst of the slick. While he’s at it, he eases the shirt under Poe’s hips to catch any of his leaking semen.

He returns his attention to Poe’s cock, running his tongue from base to head and then wrapping his lips around. He flattens his tongue against the underside and works his way down until he’s got nearly the length of it enveloped in the heat of his mouth, and then he bobs up and down, using hints of suction and flicks of his tongue — listening for Poe’s sharp moans, his broken groaning of  _ fffffuuck _ or  _ Kylo _ and using them as a guide. Keeping one hand wrapped around Poe’s cock, he uses the other to scratch red lines on Poe’s flushed skin. 

He keeps up the rhythm, the dart of his tongue, and after a time Poe’s hands grip tight around his upper arms. “I’m gonna come,” Poe manages, and then his nails dig into Kylo’s muscles and there’s that slight flex and warmth at the back of his throat. He slows gently while Poe spasms on the wave of his orgasm. Once the grip on his arms begins to relax, he gently pulls away from around Poe’s cock and swallows as he lays his cheek on Poe’s hip.

“Kylo,” Poe moans.

Kylo grins, brushing a kiss against the sensitive tip of Poe’s cock and gently lapping up a last pearl of come before crawling up to lay beside Poe on the bed. “You are incredible,” Poe says, breathless. His arm is stretched out beside him, so Kylo rests his head on it, curling around so that his feet are under Poe’s and they can tangle together.

Satisfaction creeps out through Kylo’s limbs, heavy and sleepy. “I’m glad you think so,” he says, teasing.

Poe looks sideways at him, his mouth twisting into a dry grin. And then those gorgeous brown eyes soften and he turns onto his side, draping his free arm across Kylo’s side and stroking gentle fingers against the skin of his back.

Kylo’s not sure how long he watches Poe, listens to the soothing rhythm of his breathing, before he begins to drift away. But when sleep comes, it’s peaceful, filled with the echoing warmth of his beautiful pilot.


End file.
